The Stars Looked Down
by Tazlet
Summary: The first time Chandler and Slattery made love was on the deck of the Nathan James as they were heading to San Francisco.


**The Stars Looked Down  
** by Taz

Slattery went through the ritual of handing over the com but he needed air and, instead of going down and joining Chandler in the Conference room, he stepped out on the bridge-wing. The lookout braced to attention against the stiffening wind, and Slattery returned her salute.

"Anything?"

"All quiet, Sir."

The moon was below the horizon and the waves were lit only by starlight. He caught a glimpse of the red lights on the Chinese destroyer running ahead of them. By the time they reached San Diego, the skeleton crew would have been taken off—the timing was critical—it would be a stalking horse in the darkness. The sense of impending betrayal left an acrid taste in his mouth.

He leaned against the rail and listened to the rhythmic rush as the bow of the Nathan James cut the water. He caught himself yawning.

The thought of clean sheets was appealing. He was exhausted—stress and needing to stay focused, calm, and accessible—Doc said he was still anemic.

With the increased crew, though, he was currently quartered in the Conference room, where Chandler—he glanced at his watch—was probably still working. He could go claim the bunk but he didn't need Chandler, subtle as a Tomahawk cruise missile, taking his emotional temperature.

The lookout had stepped around the corner. Slattery took advantage of the opportunity and slid down the ladder to gun deck. Going forward, he crouched down in the shadow of the 5" gun. He could feel the thrum of the engines through the gun well. The wind whipped tears from his eyes but he looked up at the brilliant highway of stars arcing overhead.

Last year, just before Nathan James had left for the arctic assignment, he, Christine and the children had gone camping in the Blue Ridge mountains. You could see the stars up there. They'd driven home late on the last day with the children asleep in a puppy pile in the back. He'd carried each of them up to bed and sometime he could still feel their weight in his arms. As he could still feel the warmth of Christine against him.

Last year he had been a married man with three children.

This year he ached with an emptiness, that he barely managed to contain. Even at that moment, a groundswell of pain ripped him apart. He surged forward on his hands and knees, and began pounding the deck with his fists. He would have screamed except the lookout would have heard, and the last think this crew needed was a crazy captain.

But, he kept punching and punching until, suddenly, there was a steely grip on his shoulder and someone was hissing, "Mike!"

Panting, he looked up and saw Tom Chandler bending over him. Except for a dusting of starlight, outlining his head and shoulders, his trim form and severe features were obscured by the shadow of the gun.

"Are you all right?" Chandler was keeping his voice down.

"I'm fine!" Slattery snapped. He shrugged Chandler's hand, threw himself back against the gun well. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "Are we under attack by a school of flying fish?"

"I thought you like some company."

"No! Is it too much to ask for an hour without a God damned crisis?"

"Everything's under control."

Chandler sounded as if seeing a ship's captain trying to beat a hole in the deck was a normal, everyday occurrence.

Slattery aimed a kick at his knee, but he couldn't quite bring himself to strike a superior officer and wound up pressing his hands over his suddenly streaming eyes and nose. "Oh, go away! I'm going to start blubbing any minute."

"I'll go if you want, but I thought you might like…" Chandler straightened and pulled something from his breast pocket. When he shook it, Slattery heard a gurgling sound. "Bottled in bond is mighty hard to come by these days."

"What is it?"

"Jim Beam. The real deal.

"Who'd you confiscate that from?"

"I'll have you know I came by this honestly."

For a moment, Slattery continued scowling up at Chandler. Then he gave up and pulled in his arms and legs to make room. "Well, in that case…" He wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "You can stay."

"You're welcome." Chandler sat, tucking himself close to Slattery in the shadow of the gun well. He twisted the cap off the bottle. "Get outside of this. It will be good for what ails you."

Slattery took a swig, and then gasped as the bourbon seared his throat and the fumes exploded in his head. "Hot damn!" He took another gulp and eyed the bottle with more respect." You know, Tom, you probably have the authority to rescind General Order 99."

"I suppose I could but… Here, give me that." Chandler took the bottle from Slattery. "Look at this way, if you're a sailor dim enough to get caught with contraband…" He took a drink. "You belong in the Marines."

"Damn straight!" Slattery said. "Where did you find that anyway?"

"I received it from the manager at the Hong Kong Intercontinental."

"You bribed him?"

"Her. And hell no! Bribery is against the law… Emergency Regulations…blah, blah, blah…Provisional Government of China. There was a card posted on the front desk."

"You didn't?"

"I cannot tell a lie. I am a man of unimp-unimpeachable rectitude."

"Here's to your peach," Slattery took the bottle and saluted the gun above them. "And to the stick up your rectitude!"

They passed the bottle back and forth, The Orion arm of the Milky Way wheeled overhead. Slattery nodded at one particular bright star. "That's Jupiter."

"Algol, Almaak, Altair, Antares, Bellatrix…" Chandler pointed. "And…I forget."

"Betelgeuse, Bootes, Canopus, Capella… There is something to be said for the apocalypse."

"Yeah, you can see the stars," Chandler said. "Even in St. Louis."

"Polaris, Polux, Proxima, …"

"I saw what you did there. Regulus, Rigel, and Spica."

The wind had grown colder.

"Tom…" Slattery said. "I'm sorry…

"Don't." Chandler put his arm around Slattery's shoulder and pulled him close. "Cut yourself some God damn slack," he said softly. "Everyone is taking a turn in the crazy barrel, these days."

Catching a puff of bourbon and the faintest trace of cedar scented soap, Slattery looked up and was surprised as Chandler's lips brushed his.

It was the briefest touch, yet it was like a spark in dry grass.

Slattery caught his breath and drew back thinking that it had to have been an accident. But yet Chandler didn't move. In the shadow of the gun well was impossible to make out his expression. Slattery leaned closer, and this time there was no doubt; Chandler's mouth met his.

The kiss was slow and tentative at first and then Chandler's hand was on the back of his head, holding tightly, and his mouth was being searched.

As the kiss continued, Slattery began undoing the buttons on Chandler's shirt and pull it up. He unbuckled the belt, trouser button, and then the zipper. When Chandler made no move to prevent anything he was doing, he took advantage of his greater height and weight, and pulled the man into his lap. They continued to kiss; he went on exploring, and found what he was looking for.

Hot, hard flesh leapt into his hand, as the ship's bell sounded.

They both froze, and Chandler moaned. Slattery pressed his head into his shoulder. "No noise," he murmured, "unless you want this on the internet."

Chandler's response sounded like a snicker as he relaxed, snuggling against Slattery's shoulder, and began making his own investigations.

For some reason, that change of lookout seemed to take an unconscionable amount of time—enough for Slattery to discover that Chandler had what Christine would have described as a very 'knowing' hand—at a certain point, he no longer gave a damn; Chandler knew what to fondle, and for exactly how long.

Slattery was stroking Chandler's shaft and, though they were no longer kissing, they were so close they were breathing each others breath. Chandler gave a little gasp. Slattery felt his balls contract, even as the shaft in his hand began to pulse softly and spill slippery hot come over his hand. And then he was coming too—in spite of holding on as long as he could—gasping as Chandler whispered, "Hush, Mike, hush… Hush."

Spent, they lay tangled together until Slattery's calf was cramping.

He nudged Chandler. "Gotta move!"

"Got a tissue?"

"I'm sitting on it."

"Don't wipe your hand on my shorts." Chandler grumbled, as they untangled themselves.

They shared the tissue, tucked and buttoned, and sat side-by-side.

"Here." Chandler, who had used it last, handed the tissue back to Slattery, and got a dirty look in return. "Who's the commodore?"

Slattery stuck it in his pocket.

"Question," Slattery said.

Chandler was feeling the deck around them.

"Don't me ask if we will regret this."

"I just want to know if this was a one off."

"Not if I can help it."

Chandler located the bottle of Jim Beam, and held up so that the light of galactic core showed through it.

"Enough for one last taste," he said. "Make the toast."

"To the stick up your rectitude," Slattery said.

They finished the bottle.

"And next time…"

"Next time what?

"I want a bed."

 _Finis_  
 _09/14/2016_


End file.
